


Not Alone

by Vultoni_and_Arnaera



Series: VnA’s Fic Dump - HSC Edition [3]
Category: Henry Stickmin Series (Video Games)
Genre: (how is that not already a tag?), Blood and Injury, Bonding, Car Chases, Gen, Gunshot Wounds, No Beta, Non-Graphic Violence, One-Shot, Post-Canon, Scars, Toppat Recruits Ending | TR (Henry Stickmin), Trust Issues, patching up an injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-07
Updated: 2020-11-07
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:07:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27441691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vultoni_and_Arnaera/pseuds/Vultoni_and_Arnaera
Summary: When a raid goes wrong, Right finds himself bandaging up the Toppat Clan's newest recruit.
Relationships: Right Hand Man & Henry Stickmin
Series: VnA’s Fic Dump - HSC Edition [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2002828
Comments: 3
Kudos: 95





	Not Alone

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be a fluffy ship piece and it ended up evolving into this. I'm still happy with it, but it took a turn into something more platonic. Oh well, take it as shippy or not it. I don't get to pick what you see it as, but I'm fine with either.
> 
> Cross-Posted on Tumblr at vultoni-and-arnaera.
> 
> As always, let me know what you think! Feedback of any kind is appreciated!

The raid had gone to hell in a handbasket.

There had to be a rat somewhere in their system, since there was no way this could have gotten past their radar otherwise. Once this was all over, he would find who it was and crush them.

They had to survive this first, though.

Right threw open the door of the getaway vehicle. Their driver had already been captured, so he didn't hesitate to grab the keys from under the seat and start it up. Two other doors slam open and closed as the rest of the raiding party catches up. He hears someone hop on the bed of the truck and knows they're all here.

He slams the truck into gear and screeches out of the lot. Right can hear the distinctive sound of sirens behind them, showing the law to still be hot on their trail. His hands tighten on the steering wheel. They are way too close for comfort.

Despite this, despite the obvious danger they're in, the other Toppats in the truck whoop and jeer.

"C'mon newbie, show 'em what you got!"

As if they weren't little more than recruits themselves. He's the only person in the truck with more than a few years in the clan.

It also tells him who's in the back. Where having a rookie on rear-guard would usually worry him, in this particular situation it doesn't.

After all, having the man who single-handedly brought down the airship watching their backs isn't such a bad thing. That may sound contradictory, but he's on their side now.

What follows is a hair-raising car chase that nearly gets them all killed multiple times. He also hears two separate car crashes behind him and knows they picked the right person for the back.

They've lost the law by the time he pulls into the garage of the safe house. Right hastily shuts off the lights and gets out of the truck.

He pulls the garage door closed and herds the three chatterboxes into the house. They go, still laughing and cheering like gradeschool children. Right rolls his eyes at them and turns back to the truck. They're still missing someone.

Henry slides over the side of the truck bed, landing neatly on the concrete floor. It's not as grandiose a movement as Right expected, but it's been a long day. They're all tired.

He leads the last member of their raid team into the house.

The other three are already sprawled out on the couch inside. Two were asleep already and the last was nodding off.

"Recruits," he mutters under his breath, shaking his head.

Henry makes a questioning noise beside him.

Right answers, "they may've been in the clan longer, but they're much greener than you. Don't even know 'ow to 'andle an adrenaline crash."

He seems satisfied with that answer and drops his bag by the wall. There's a stiffness in his movements, a gingerness that hadn't been there when they jumped in the truck.

"'Old on, Stickmin."

Henry stops on his way past and turns to look at him. He's slightly curled in on himself, just a small hunch of his shoulders and a subtle curling of his arms.

"Yer limping. Did they wing you?"

He doesn't answer for a moment, seemingly conflicted with himself. Finally, he raises his hands.

"It's just a graze," he signs, "nothing I can't handle on my own."

Right holds back a sigh. So much for not being green, "but you don't 'ave to. We Toppats look after each other. Now sit down before you fall down. I'll be right back."

He walks off before Henry can protest. It's a simple task to grab the first-aid kit from the bathroom. It's been fully restocked since he was here before, which is good since it was half-empty after last time.

When he entered back into the main room, Henry had moved to one of the unoccupied couches, close to the door and away from the snoring heap of recruits. He looks up as Right approaches, seeming to curl in on himself further in a way that had nothing to do with his injury.

Speaking of...

"Where'd they get you?"

He doesn't get a verbal response. He rarely if ever gets one from Henry, but he gets an answer in the form of him sliding off his dark blue jacket.

The blood soaking through the pale blue button-up shirt underneath is also an answer in itself.

Right suppresses the curses running through his head and takes a seat next to Henry. A negative response would probably make him close off again, go straight back to trying to handle everything on his own.

He flips the first-aid kit open and begins to dig through it.

"Gonna 'ave to take that shirt off if you want me to patch that up. I won't do it for you," he says, hands buried in the kit. He sees Henry raise his hands to sign something in the corner of his vision, probably something snarky, then think better of it and lower them. Without further protest he begins unbuttoning his shirt.

He's found what he's looking for by the time Henry gets the shirt off. There's a pained hiss as the fabric is pulled free from the wound, having been glued there by the drying blood. He drops the bloodied garment off to the side to be picked up later.

"Can't do much 'ere, but I can clean 'n wrap it. We'll 'ave a doctor look at it when we get back to the station," Right says, taking a closer look at the gash. It wasn't deep, barely more than a graze, but it was the type of wound that bled a lot. It looked worse than it actually was.

Henry only nods in answer, staying as still as he can otherwise.

He manages to stay at least mostly still while Right washes away the dried blood and cleans the wound. There's a bit of squirming and flinching, but that's to be expected, and it's far less than he would get from a green recruit.

Because despite being new to the Toppat Clan, Henry Stickmin is far from green. He's a seasoned thief, well known, almost to the point of infamy, in the criminal underbelly for his impossible heists and legendary evasiveness. It took the military stepping in to finally catch him again after that first prison escape, and even they couldn't keep a hold on him.

He'd learned the finer details of Henry's story after the airship crash as Reginald looked into just who it was that attacked them, but he'd heard of him even before that. You don't just steal something like the Tunisian Diamond, and the many other priceless treasures he'd also taken, without gaining _something_ of a reputation.

A reputation Galeforce really should have considered before sending him into the airship.

_Really, who picks a thief known for his stubbornness and disregard of authority to bring down other criminals? For what? A pardon? How is that leverage for a man who clearly gives less than two shits about the law?_

The whole story was almost comical. It wouldn't surprise him to learn that Henry chose to ally with them against the military out of spite.

He finishes bandaging the wound and leans back to check his handiwork. Having them either be too tight or too loose would be a problem.

It suddenly occurred to Right that this is the first time he's seen the other shirtless.

He clearly needed to eat more. Being able to see the faint raises where his ribs were was enough to tell him that. Right made a mental note to make sure he showed up to meals regularly. What was probably a lifetime of barely scrapping by couldn't be undone easily, but he had all the time in the world to recover now that he was with them.

And the scars. Those told him more about Henry than almost anything else.

His chest was a patchwork of raised lines and pale splotches. It was like a canvas that told where he'd been and what he's done, the story of his life mapped out permanently on his skin. Knife wounds, bullet scars, burn marks, and a whole host of other unusual injuries he'd sustained at some point. Even one that looked like-

"Are those teeth marks?"

Henry looks down at the scar he's pointing at, a ring of jagged marks across the top of his left hip. He grins almost mischievously. 

"Guard dog," he signs, "it jumped on me. Almost knocked me on the ground. I managed to kick it off and keep going, but it was a very close call."

"Sounds like it," Right says, rolling up the left sleeve of his shirt. He shows Henry the near-identical scar on his bicep, "damn mutt almost took my arm off. Was lucky it didn't damage the muscle."

Henry laughs quietly then winces when it pulls at the wound.

"I'm okay," he signs in response to Right's raised eyebrow.

"You better be. If yer hiding any other injuries, 'm gonna be upset," he says. The reaction it gets from Henry is not what he expected at all.

"That makes sense," he signs with a look of realization on his face, "you need all of us back in one piece. That's why you took the time to patch me up."

Right just looks at him.

_What is going through your head? Why do you think we don't care?_

He doesn't say that. Instead, he lets out a long sigh.

Because he really does understand. He understands and remembers what it was like to be alone for so long with no one to watch your back. It feels like lifetimes ago, just the distant recollections of an existence before this one, before he found his home under the Toppat banner.

He remembers how hard it was to come to terms with the fact that everyone who offered him a helping hand didn't have a knife behind their back in the other. He recalls the poisoned logic his brain used to justify that during the transition.

"No, 'Enry. That's not why I patched you up."

Henry looks at him, startled. He can almost visualize the gears in his head coming to a stop.

"I need you alive, but I patched you up because I care. Yer one of us, a Toppat, and we look after each other. You matter to us, to me. I don't need any other reason than that," he says, making sure to hold Henry's gaze as he does.

He stares at him in stunned silence. A million and one thoughts flash across his eyes, each one leaving a hint of emotion on his face. Eventually he jerks his head to the side, breaking the eye contact. He nods, a motion that's barely more than a shift, and says nothing else.

It's enough for now. Trust wasn't easily built, especially with someone like him, but it's a start.

"Go get some sleep. It's been a busy day and you look like yer about to pass out," Right says, beginning to pack up the first-aid kit.

"Okay," Henry finally signs. He leans over to pick up the blood-stained shirt and tenses, the movement having shifted his injury.

"Leave it," he says, "I'll get it. Just...go sleep"

He stops reaching for the shirt and carefully stands. He raises and lowers his hands a few times, seemingly at a loss.

Finally, he manages to look him in the face and sign, "thank you, for that," a pause, "and for helping me."

Right lets a small smile cross his face, "yer welcome, 'Enry. The rooms are down that 'allway."

He smiles back, a tiny, fragile thing before turning around. He flicks on the light as he goes, illuminating the short hallway. Then he turns into one of the rooms and disappears from sight. 

Right closes up the first-aid kit and sets it on the table. It'll take some time before he fully trusts them. He's spent nearly his entire life holding everyone at arm's length, and that kind of distrust wasn't easy to get through. It took patience and kindness, open arms and a reassurance that they would always be there, would always look out for him. But above all, he had to be the one to come to them.

This wasn't something that could be forced. But maybe, just maybe, one day Henry would be able to rely on them without feeling like he owed them anything in return.

Until then, Right would keep a watchful eye on him, ready to hold a hand outstretched if he ever needed it and to tend to his injuries when he was hurt.

**Author's Note:**

> I really need to nail down how I write Right's (pun) accent. It's all over the place at the moment.
> 
> And two fics in two days? I must be on a roll.


End file.
